Éclairée: The Light is Shed
by Perle Noire
Summary: Hermioine is discovered to possess an ancient power that may ultimately determine the fate of the Wizarding world, and one man's life in particular. Part 1 of 2. Eventual SSHG. OotP Spoilers. Posted on Whispers WIKTT 71203
1. Attaquer

A/N: I'd like to thank my beta reader, Corazon, for helping me get this off the ground. I intend to update this story at least once a week, more if I can find the time to write. As I've been reading Snape/Hermione stories for over two years now, it is very likely that most of the ideas from my story are not my own; I've read too many fics to remember where everything comes from. If you notice something that is unmistakably yours, please e-mail me and I will credit you properly. All other reviews are welcome. 

Chapter 1: Attaquer 

"Honestly you guys, will you please keep it down?" Hermione pleaded with her friends. 

"Sorry Herm," Harry, Ron, and Ginny chorused, then promptly returned to their heated Quidditch debate. 

Hermione sighed. Quidditch Fever had hit Hogwarts like a disease, particularly in Gryffindor. True, the whole school was anxious to see if Gryffindor would grab the Cup now that Harry was back as Seeker, but Hermione was becoming increasingly bored with their incessant chatter. She opened her mouth to ask her friends again to keep quiet, but quickly closed it; nothing would derail them from the topic of Quidditch with the final match so near. 

Hermione glanced back down at the rather large Transfiguration textbook she had been trying to study, then gave another small sigh and shut the book. She settled down to eat her dinner, letting the noisy talking wash over her like a wave over a rock. She pretended to be examining the jug of pumpkin juice in front of her while snatches of conversation floated past her ears. 

"Don't know _what_ he was thinking-" 

"New spellbooks and all-" 

"Quidditch game Saturday-" 

"Potter and You-Know-Who-" 

That last fragment caused Hermione to snort. Wild rumors about Harry had been flying around the school for a year now, most of them glorifying him to the point of making him seem almost godlike. Frankly, Hermione was sick of all the Harry-hype; she knew perfectly well how vulnerable they all were, now that Voldemort was back. She cringed slightly at the thought of the Dark Lord. She quickly looked across the table at Harry and Ron, who were busy arguing over the circumference of a "regulation Quaffle," or some other such nonsense. She relaxed; they weren't suspicious. 

Last year, Hermione had been too involved with her Prefect duties to recognize or acknowledge her feelings for what they were: fear. But things had changed so much for the Order over the past year. Hermione knew that a boggart would no longer change into Professor McGonagall if it faced her now; most likely, she mused, it would turn into the dead bodies of her parents, just like Mrs. Weasley's fear for her family. 

Harry was not the only one who was plagued by nightmares in Gryffindor; dreams of Voldemort murdering her parents frequented Hermione's slumber at least once a week. However, she knew that her dreams were just that- dreams- and entirely unreliable ones to boot. Hermione, knowing that she was neither a Seer nor in direct link with Voldemort in any way, had basically ignored them last year. 

But this year it was different. With the entire Wizarding world on its toes resisting the Dark Lord, her fears seemed somehow much more justified; already the families of four Muggle-borns had been attacked. 

Hermione shivered. Really, she thought, I'm being silly. Why would Voldemort go after them anyway- they're just dentists! But she could not shake off her troublesome thoughts by simply being cheerful, so she forced herself to think of something else. 

Smiling slightly, Hermione thought of Viktor's last letter, in which he had congratulated her on being accepted to Oxford a year earlier than the normal applicants. Though she had yet to take her NEWTs, Hermione had applied for their early-decision program, which accepted her into the school as long as her future NEWT scores matched those of her OWLs. She wasn't worried; she was only in her sixth year, and she had already mastered most of that was covered in the Hogwarts curriculum for the seventh years. 

Hermione allowed herself a moment to daydream on what life would be like after Hogwarts; she would be with others of her intellect, for a change. Not that she wouldn't miss Hogwarts and her teachers- of course she would. But she was looking forward to finally being "out in the real world," as her father put it. 

She yawned. It had been a long day, what with the Potions class she'd suffered through that afternoon. Snape had them making a base for Veritaserum; naturally, they would not be completing the full potion, as that took a full month to brew. But he wanted them to get a feel for how long the really complicated potions like Veritaserum took to create, although Hermione personally had had more than enough experience brewing time-consuming potions (like the Polyjuice). Actually, she hadn't minded the class all that much, for now that they were beyond OWL level and only the most advanced Potions students were in the class, lessons had become almost bearable. 

Of course, it didn't help that Malfoy was still there to torment her, and Harry and Ron were not. Crabbe and Goyle had barely scraped by with an "A" on their OWLs, so they weren't in the class either. Hermione couldn't understand how Malfoy had managed an "Outstanding," but then again, this was Lucius Malfoy's son. Hermione had no doubt that Snape had been forced by Lucius, either through blackmail or through a desire to save face within Voldemort's ranks, to put dear old Draco in the class. 

It also didn't help that Malfoy and Hermione were often paired to sit together; Snape usually had a sadistic gleam in his eyes when he said, "Well, Miss Granger, I think you and.... Mr. Malfoy should work together today." 

Today had been one of those unfortunate days. As the class set about chopping their plants and measuring out their liquids, Malfoy had leaned across Hermione's arms and whispered, "So, Mudblood, shall I tell my father that you seem keen on the idea of meeting the Dark Lord? I'm sure he would love to meet you... and then dispose of you, little scumbag...." 

Hermione had instantly thought of a thousand different comebacks, most of which referred to Malfoy's little stint as a ferret in their fourth year. Her blood was boiling, but she clamped her mouth shut and continued slicing her ostrich feathers. Snape glided over to them and stood behind her for a full minute before Hermione noticed that he was sneering down at her. "Miss Granger," he practically spat, "Ten points from Gryffindor for not slicing those feathers on the proper angle." With that, he swept away to terrorize some other poor student, leaving Hermione fighting back tears. It was so unfair! She knew she was doing everything perfectly, but Snape was always picking on her. 

The lesson continued on, Malfoy whispering insults at her every time he had to lean over and throw something in their cauldron. Hermione was grateful when the bell rang and Snape snapped at them to bottle their bases and clean up their work areas. Honestly, she thought as she headed for the Great Hall, I can see why Harry and Ron are always ready to sock those two. But what she couldn't understand was why she had become so emotional so very quickly; by now, she knew the best way to deal with Snape and Malfoy was to just ignore them. 

Why Snape was particularly vindictive these days was no surprise. After all, spying for the Order had to be taxing work. Deep down, Hermione knew that part of the reason why he kept picking on her was to appease Lucius Malfoy's son, who would surely report to his father if Snape started favoring Muggle-borns. But she had to wonder if the circumstances were different, and the Dark Lord had been defeated, whether Snape would be a bit nicer. She almost laughed at the thought. Snape, the old bat, being nice? It was nearly as impossible as Trelawney being a true Seer. 

But wait a minute. Harry had confirmed that Trelawney had moments of real prophecy, so maybe a personality change for the Potions Master wouldn't be all that strange. Hermione snorted. Yeah, right. Trelawney might not be a total fraud, but Snape was just evil by nature. In fact, Ron had been complaining of the same thing yesterday evening, when Snape had taken a full thirty points from Gryffindor because Ron had been on duty patrolling the hallways after curfew. According to Ron (who had been rather difficult to understand because every other word out of his mouth was a curse at Snape's mother), Snape had stopped him and asked what he was doing out of bed. Ron had told him the truth, that he was patrolling. Snape had simply eyed him for a minute with a malicious look on his face, then said to Ron, "Mr. Malfoy is on patrol duty tonight, Weasley. Thirty points from Gryffindor for using your Prefect status as an excuse to sneak around at night." 

Ron had been fuming, naturally. But Hermione had to wonder if something hadn't happened, or was going to happen, to put Snape in such a foul mood. Her skin prickled: what if Voldemort was going to attack? Nah, she thought, he's been quiet for almost a month now; he's probably busy doing beauty treatments and making his skin look more like green scales. Nevertheless, Hermione couldn't help but associate Snape's behavior with forthcoming bad news. 

As it turned out, Hermione should have trusted her gut instincts a bit more. The meal continued on normally, Hermione still lost in thought. She was just gathering her things together when suddenly, all the candles and lamps in the Hall flickered out. An eerie silence descended over the tables, and Hermione thought fleetingly of the Dementors. 

The doors to the Hall flew open, and a horrible scene greeted the school: at least thirty Death Eaters, all clad in black robes and sinister masks, ran into the room and formed a line in front of the astonished students and staff. 

It all happened too quickly for Hermione to comprehend what was happening. The Death Eaters pointed their wands at the High Table. Quietly, they all whispered a spell; a second later, the teachers were trapped behind a shimmering wall of what seemed to be raw magic, crackling and sparking into the tomblike silence. Everyone sat still, Death Eaters and students waiting for the other to make the first move. 

The longest minute of Hermione's life passed as the two groups faced each other. A lone fork clattered to the floor and broke the stillness, and Hermione suddenly understood. 

Death Eaters were attacking Hogwarts. 


	2. Lutter

A/N: Thanks to my first reviewers Saphira Slytherin, PottersGirl5990, Kylaia, sweetevangeline, Unique T, claribel, Zimarme, Athene Saile, and Jenni for their support. As for all of your questions, I think you will just have to read the next couple chapters before you hound me for information! Not that I don't want to be bugged; if nothing else, it reminds me to get off m arse and write because people are waiting for the next chapter. But this chapter will hopefully answer some of those questions, though it will most likely create a thousand more. Happy reading, then. Also thanks to my beta Corazon for her help. 

Gah! I knew I forgot something in the first chapter! Well, this will just have to suffice... 

Disclaimer: The Potterverse is owned by J.K. Rowling. I just live in it. ( And that is the last disclaimer you will see from me in this story, as I find them tedious and fundamentally stupid; after all, would I be posting this story on a FREE internet site if I were making money from it? Even I, of the "loony-blue eyes," am not that dumb.) 

Chapter 2: Lutter 

In the space of a second, it seemed, the whole school had mobilized into a defensive line. The older students had pulled the long House tables to the floor to act as shields, causing the food on top to clatter down upon the younger students' heads; meanwhile, the Death Eaters were busy sealing the Hall off from the rest of the school. The teachers were still trapped behind the wall of energy, and every single one (save Hagrid, who could only stare helplessly without a wand) was trying to break the barrier. Unfortunately, the wall seemed to be sustained from the Death Eaters' wands, and nothing any of them, including Dumbledore, tried could make it disappear. 

All of this had only been going on for less than a minute, yet already Harry and Ron had joined the upper-year students in dueling. Hermione, however, stood transfixed behind the overturned bench, half of her brain still believing that it was all a nightmare. A small child began to pull on the hem of her robes; when Hermione looked down, she saw all the Gryffindor first years staring at her as if to say, why aren't you out there helping? 

The pleading looks did it. As if being snapped out of a trance, Hermione quickly pulled out her wand, took a deep breath, and ran into the middle of the battle. 

Immediately, two formidable-looking Death Eaters descended upon her. Hermione didn't have time to think; she screamed "Expelliarmus!" as loud as she could, and her attackers' wands flew into her hands. She was about to break them in half when the pair of Death Eaters looked at one another, laughed, and pulled out spare wands from under their cloaks. Quickly Hermione stopped trying to snap the thick wood and instead ran back towards the Gryffindor table. 

The Death Eaters were clearly playing the offensive; their aim seemed not to get to the teachers, who were still trapped, but to the younger students, who couldn't defend themselves. 

A thought hit Hermione as she ran: if they only had some trouble seeing us, we could use some stealth! Softly she muttered the Disillusionment Charm, then ran right back in front of her former opponents. For one crucial second they stared right through her, and Hermione had them Stunned before they even realized what she was doing. 

Hermione glanced wildly around- where were Harry and Ron? After a minute she spotted them; Harry was battling with a strong-looking Death Eater, and Ron had joined the coalition defending the tables. 

Suddenly, a gloved hand grabbed Hermione's shoulder and spun her around; she had a fleeting glimpse of the haze-concealed High Table, where Professor McGonagall was staring back at her with a look of terror upon her old face. Instead of killing her then and there, the Death Eater held her wrists together in one hand and began to unbutton her outer robe with the other. Hermione screamed, then rammed her knee into his groin; the man let out a moan and released her hands. Hermione tried to run, but the enraged Death Eater grabbed the back of her robes and pulled. Without hesitation, Hermione simply slipped her arms out of the sleeves of the now-unbuttoned robes and escaped, leaving the would-be rapist howling with anger. 

Hermione stumbled away from the furious Death Eater, feeling slightly sick. She shivered; even thought the Hall was unbearably warm with the combined heat of hundreds of moving bodies, cold sweat was running down her neck. With a shaking hand, Hermione softly whispered the Disillusionment Charm again to buy herself some time: As long as she stood perfectly still, no one would be able to see her unless they were purposely looking for her. 

As Hermione fought to calm her disobedient body, she surveyed the battle before her. The students, she thought proudly, were putting up one hell of a fight. Perhaps spurred by the sudden absence of the protective teachers, they had floored at least a dozen Death Eaters, which was approximately the same number of students who had fallen. None of the kids seemed to be grievously hurt; they huddled together in one corner of the Hall and nursed minor cuts and scrapes. Hermione found it slightly disconcerting that the Death Eaters were not dueling like they would with adults, but then she thought that perhaps they had ulterior motives for storming the school. With the Hall locked, no one could be sure what other, more cunning Death Eaters might be doing in some other part of the school; Hermione only hoped that Dumbledore didn't have anything that Voldemort desperately needed hidden in some dark corner of the castle. 

I never knew Hufflepuffs could make such fighters, thought Hermione in awe, as Ernie Macmillan bound the arms of a Death Eater with a length of enchanted rope. 

In fact, to Hermione's slightly-prejudiced eyes, it seemed like it was the students from their fifth-year "D.A." classes who were leading their side of the fight. Cho Chang had opted for the more humorous curses; currently, her opponent was unable to shake off a potent Jelly-Legs Jinx. Ron had put himself in charge of protecting the younger students behind the tables. Hermione almost laughed when a Death Eater, still disoriented from a well-placed Conjunctivitis Curse, stumbled into Ron and was immediately hit with a Furnunculus Curse; with a loud smacking noise, the Death Eater's teeth began to chatter rapidly, and then suddenly they all popped out of his mouth and clattered to the floor. (Apparently, thought Hermione wryly, Furnunculus shouldn't be mixed with either Jelly- Legs or Conjunctivitis.) 

For an instant, Hermione had a vision of Malfoy and his two overgrown sidekicks lying on the floor of the Hogwarts Express, covered in hex-marks. But as quickly as the memory surfaced, it dissolved; minor discrepancies between school rivals seemed petty and surreal to Hermione now. 

Hermione's stomach did a flip-flop. Where was Malfoy? In fact, where were all the Slytherins? Hermione looked around wildly, then sighed in mild relief as she spotted Malfoy's blond head. He was warding off a Death Eater and shouting orders to Crabbe and Goyle at the same time. Crabbe and Goyle, Hermione thought with a slightly hysterical smirk, were as useless in battle as they were in class; they looked as hopelessly confused at Malfoy's directions (whatever they were) as they did when Professor Flitwick asked them to perform a simple Levitating Charm. But something odd was going on in Malfoy's corner, and Hermione couldn't quite place it, until.... 

Of course. The Slytherins were all fighting together, in a group. Their strategy seemed to be working; the seven or eight Death Eaters in their arena, though undoubtedly skilled fighters, were no match for thirty teenagers hell-bent on decapitating them with Severing Charms. In this case, strength in numbers was definitely proving to be effective. Hermione snorted and thought, I wonder if Snape taught them that- it would certainly explain their "Slytherins Against the World" attitude. 

On impulse, Hermione glanced towards Snape's customary end seat that the High Table. Just as she had feared, the chair was empty, and Snape was not among the other teachers working to destroy the wall. 

"Really, Miss Granger, if you're trying to stay disguised, do attempt to keep that rat's nest on your head from moving every time you turn your head." Hermione gave a small yelp as Snape, looking for all the world like a vampire on steroids in his Death Eater garb, whispered in her ear. But something was bothering her about that description- ah yes. Vampires, no matter how bloodthirsty, were usually not translucent as Snape was now; Hermione realized that he was using the same charm to hide himself as she was currently employing. She opened her mouth to ask one of the million questions that had just popped into her brain, but Snape's glare quelled her desire for information immediately. "Miss Granger," he said with a hint of warning, "I suggest you get back to helping the others." He gestured to the hall before them, and Hermione's eyes followed the arc of his hand. As she looked back at Snape to ask what she should do, she gasped. Snape had completely disappeared, leaving Hermione feeling more abandoned and alone than she ever had before. 

Her panicky feelings grew. Word and phrases flashed through Hermione's mind, each more nonsensical than the last ("Snape-Death Eater-banana peel- air hockey- carpe diem-electric stoves...") and her heart rate accelerated to a frightening level. As adrenaline surged through her body, Hermione did the only thing that made sense to her flight-ready brain: she ran. 

As she was running away, Hermione glanced back at Harry. Already he had Stunned three Death Eaters, and he was now dueling with another two. Hermione felt a twinge of fear lick her heart, and a thought surfaced in her mind. Perhaps she should go help McGonagall and the others try to break the wall; after all, she was much better at that sort of thing than actually fighting on the front lines. After a moment of hesitation, Hermione ran back up to the front of the Hall. 

Something odd happened to Hermione as she ran. She looked around and noticed that everyone else appeared to be moving in slow motion. For no apparent reason, she turned to look back at Harry. He was still fighting, but he hadn't noticed another Death Eater on his left side pointing a wand at him. 

The lone Death Eater lifted his wand to cast a spell, and somehow Hermione knew that it wasn't going to be just a Stunner. She couldn't see his mouth moving behind the mask, of course, but she didn't have to; an instant later, a jet of emerald-green light erupted from the wand an headed for Harry's heart. 

Without thinking, Hermione began to run back towards Harry. As she raced to beat the curse, she realized that the green light was still traveling at slow speed; it was her own body that was moving faster than it ever had before. To confirm this, Hermione looked down at her feet and nearly tripped: Her feet, indeed, her whole body, was emitting thousands of thin, pearly beads of light. With each bound of her legs, the light grew more intense, and Hermione felt a peculiar shot of something- she wasn't sure what- race down her spine. 

As she neared Harry, Hermione knew that she didn't have time to stop the Killing Curse with a spell. But oh, it was so close! Instinctively, Hermione stretched her arms out in front of her. She was gaining on the curse... three feet to go... two feet.... one foot... come on.... 

Almost bent double, Hermione's hands smashed into Harry's back and knocked him to the floor just as the beam of Avada Kedavra sailed over their heads. 

As soon as she touched Harry, however, time kicked back into gear, and the curse began to move again at full speed. She and Harry fell face-first to the ground. But the green light continued on its merciless and unbiased journey across the hall. 

"NO!!!" Hermione screamed, as the Killing Curse flew across the Hall straight into the back of a girl with fiery red hair: Ginny Weasley. 

As Hermione watched the horrible scene, the light radiating off her body turned red, then suddenly went black. Hermione felt anger pound in her chest, and in the space of three heartbeats it had swelled like some mutant virus. Hermione's body was wracked with spasms, then, as the pressure multiplied tenfold in an instant, she let out an anguished sob and fell twitching to the floor. 

The result was spectacular. The black light pouring off her body splintered into fragments the size of peas, then, with a sound like thunder, shot out of her and hit every single person in the Hall. Hermione struggled to breathe as the grotesque power escaped her. Dizzy, she closed her eyes. When she opened them, all the students and Death Eaters had been Stunned, and the wall in front of the High Table was dissolving. 

Still dazed, she struggled to her feet and stumbled over to where Ginny's body lay. Hermione turned the stiff form over slowly and gazed into the surprised eyes of her best female friend. 

"Oh Gin," she choked, "I'm so sorry." 

With that, she slowly closed Ginny's eyes, then buried her head in her hands and sobbed. 


	3. Découvrir

A/N: This chapter was particularly hard to write; I was rereading OotP for the eighth time last night and I am now wondering if this story will somehow make sense in regard to the events of Book 5. I suppose it's too early to tell whether or not this is any good, but I'm a bit worried. Harry is the integral character in Rowling's book, and focusing on Hermione like this is making me feel a bit guilty about excluding him from all the action. However, I think I may have found a solution that will make the events I have planned for this story flow more smoothly. As always, my reviewers have made me feel better: Saphira Slytherin, Unique T, HuntingChick, Kylaia, and that other one that was simply signed "WOW." (That one made me laugh.) Thanks also to my beta Corazon for getting this back to me so promptly; I was anxious to update. 

Chapter 3: Découvrir 

__

_Hermione was on the Quidditch field when suddenly three Death Eaters materialized out of thin air and walked towards her. Hermione reached into her robes for her wand, but she couldn't find it; instead, she felt a Galleon-sized hole in her pocket where her wand must have slipped out. Panicked, she looked up at the Death Eaters and gasped. Ginny was standing next to one Death Eater, crying silently and looking at her with an expression of betrayal and fear. Two of her captors moved forward towards Hermione's trembling form, and the third pulled off his mask to reveal a familiar face..._

_Snape sneered at Hermione while his hands closed around Ginny's neck. "Well, aren't you going to help her?" he snarled._

_Hermione tried to run towards Ginny, but her body seemed to slow down as the Death Eaters advanced upon her. Snape continued to choke Ginny, when suddenly he released his grip and began to fade away, calling as he left, "Why didn't you think, Miss Granger?" His voice faded into nothingness until all Hermione could hear were the snickers of the advancing Death Eaters. Now only three feet from Hermione, they pulled out their wands and pointed them at Hermione's throat. "You will die, Mudblood," one of the masked men sneered. Hermione recognized the voice; it belonged to none other than Draco Malfoy. "Mudblood, Mudblood," he chanted, "You failed, you failed...."_

_Hermione backed up against a wall that she felt sure had not existed there a second ago. "No," she whispered, "I didn't do it, I didn't, I swear..."_

_Draco's voice became even louder. "Mudblood, you failed..." _

_"No. No. No! I didn't! I didn't do it!"_

_"Hermione? Hermione? Hermione!" Harry's voice was loud in comparison to Draco's taunts._

_"No, Harry, I didn't do it, I swear, I didn't do it, Harry, believe me..."_

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_* * *_

__

"...I didn't do it, I swear, I didn't do it, Harry, believe me...." Hermione cried in her sleep. 

_"_Hermione! Wake up!" Harry commanded. 

With a start, Hermione open her eyes to find Harry and Ron gazing down at her with identical looks of concern upon their faces. "Oh, " Hermione groaned. "My head...." 

"Hermione, listen," Harry said quietly. "You've been lying up here for a while, and we're supposed to give you this." He held up a small vial; Hermione squinted to make out its label. 

"It's Dreamless Sleep Potion," Ron said gently. "Madam Pomfrey wants you to take it right away..." he trailed off, for it was obvious that Hermione was not paying him the slightest bit of attention. 

Eyes watering, Hermione tried to sit up, but she found that her muscles wouldn't obey her. She collapsed back upon the bed, feeling drained and nauseous. Harry and Ron simply stared at her glumly, when finally Hermione couldn't take their stares anymore. "Please," she croaked, " Can I have some water?" 

Harry shook his head. "You're not allowed to have anything except the potion." He gestured towards the small bottle, now perched atop the table beside Hermione's bed. 

Hermione closed her eyes. "No, I want some water, Harry," she murmured as she slipped back into sleep. 

The boys watched her helplessly for a few minutes longer. When it became apparent that she wasn't going to wake up any time soon, they quietly slipped out of the Hospital Wing and walked slowly back to Gryffindor Tower, lost in their own melancholy thoughts. 

* * * 

Hermione slept fitfully for a few hours more. Madam Pomfrey popped her head in to check on her every once in a while, clearly wishing that Hermione had taken the potion beforehand. 

Tossing and turning every few seconds, Hermione dreamed of strange scenes and distorted memories, most involving Ginny and Snape. She frequently moaned aloud, her distressed crying always bringing the rushing feet of Madam Pomfrey. It was very early in the morning when she awoke because of the sounds of hushed voices conversing outside her cubicle. 

"She hasn't been well, Professor," said a voice that Hermione recognized as Madam Pomfrey's. 

"Have you been able to run the test yet?" inquired a male voice that Hermione couldn't identify. 

"No, she's been having nightmares. I was afraid to wake her fully." 

Hermione thought she heard the man sigh. He whispered something incomprehensible, and after a pause in which Hermione strained to hear the rest of their talk, a door in the distance closed softly. 

Hermione leaned back upon the pillows and tried to think clearly, but her brain felt like cotton candy. She realized that she must be in the Hospital Wing; she certainly was feeling ill. But what she couldn't understand was why. In fact, all she could remember was, strangely enough, watching a beam of green light hitting Ginny Weasley. It didn't make sense. Nothing made sense anymore; even as she thought about what it might have meant to have the green beam hit Ginny, she felt her concentration begin to dissolve like sugar in water. 

She groaned; her head felt like it had been pounded with a lead cauldron. Her eyes slid in and out of focus, and she could not muster up the energy to ring the bell on her nightstand to call Madam Pomfrey. Instead, she rolled onto her side and pulled the covers over her head, thankful at the warmth the goose down provided in the chilly night. 

The next time she awoke, she felt much more alert. Her sheets were drenched with sweat and her pillow was soaked with what appeared to be tears, and Hermione wondered why she had cried so hard. With a sickening jolt, the events of the Death Eater attack on Hogwarts appeared in her brain, and Hermione felt her stomach rolling in response to a gruesome image of Ginny's body. Without warning, Hermione retched and vomited the remnants of her dinner onto the wet sheets. 

Shivering, she reached out a cold hand and rang the bell; a second later, Madam Pomfrey appeared with a group of House Elves at her heels. Before Hermione could say anything, they had lifted her a few inches off the mattress and changed the soiled sheets. As quickly as they had appeared, the Elves scampered out of the cubicle, leaving Hermione facing a morning-haired Madam Pomfrey. 

"Well, my dear, I'm glad you're awake," Pomfrey said softly. 

In response, Hermione could only grit her teeth and nod, as her head was throbbing too intensely to think of an appropriate response. 

Madam Pomfrey reached under the nightstand and pulled out a clean glass, into which she poured the contents of another small bottle atop the table. "Drink this," she said soothingly. "It will help." 

She placed her hands behind Hermione's shoulders and helped her sit up enough to drink. Hermione cautiously sipped the potion and gagged silently; with the taste of bile still fresh in her mouth, the potion tasted especially foul. 

Madam Pomfrey continued to hold her as she slowly forced down the potion. She noticed how clammy Hermione's nightgown felt, and immediately put her hand to Hermione's forehead to feel for a fever. She almost gasped aloud when she felt the heat radiating off of Hermione's head; the child was burning up. She reached into her robes and pulled out a Fever- Reducing Potion, then again forced Hermione to gulp down the vile concoction. 

Hermione immediately felt better; true, she was still very much sick, but at least her headache was disappearing. She exhaled softly and looked up at Madam Pomfrey's tired face. "I think I'll sleep some more now," she muttered quietly. Madam Pomfrey nodded and pulled the covers over her shoulders, then exited the cubicle. 

Madam Pomfrey quickly surveyed the Hospital Wing. Although it was especially crowded with the injured students from last night's drama, nearly all of the children were asleep. Weighing the choices, she finally slipped a robe over her nighttime outfit and left the wing. 

When she arrived outside the Headmaster's office, she realized that in the rush of healing all night long she had forgotten the password. Looking at the stone gargoyle, she sent it her most pleading look. Feeling utterly ridiculous, she silently bargained with the statue, promising to give him a good cleaning if he would just let her in to see the Headmaster, and- 

She broke off her mental speech when the Headmaster himself came down the moving stairs, looking very grim and tired. He spotted Madam Pomfrey staring at the gargoyle with a look of relief upon her face, and for a moment he allowed himself to feel amused. But the feeling passed almost instantaneously, and Madam Pomfrey began to speak to him before he could even ask why she was desperate to talk to him at five in the morning. 

"It's Hermione Granger, Headmaster, she's contracted a fever, and I'm afraid it will worsen into something very serious with her magical reserves so dreadfully low...." 

Professor Dumbledore nodded and began to walk towards the stairs with Pomfrey wringing her hands at his sides. "Has she said anything to you at all?" he inquired. 

Pomfrey shook her head. "No sir, she has been asleep mostly, but she's been having nightmares." 

Dumbledore sighed heavily. "I surmised as much." 

"What should we do?" Madam Pomfrey sounded a bit panicked as she asked this. 

Dumbledore gave her one of his famous stares and said with finality, "We wait. We wait and see what happens. There are only so many potions for this kind of thing." 

After a pause in which Madam Pomfrey phrased her next question carefully, she asked hesitantly, "Have you any idea why she's like this?" 

Dumbledore didn't answer for almost a full minute. When he did reply, his voice seemed to reflect the suffering and toil of a lifetime's worth of battling a ubiquitous opposing force; it was cracking and gave Madam Pomfrey a start, as she had never heard the Headmaster speak like this. "I have many ideas, but I fear that we must wait until she is well before I can prove any of them." 

Madam Pomfrey fell silent until they passed by the Hospital Wing door. Clearing her throat, she bade the Headmaster farewell and slipped quietly inside. 

Dumbledore, however, continued on down the stairs towards the dungeons. Idly he toyed with his wand; he barely noticed when the drunken witch in a painting on the wall screamed an obscenity at him. Coming to his desired door, he calmly lifted a hand and knocked, calling, "Severus, I must speak with you." 

* * * 

Hermione awoke to the sounds of Harry and Ron having a whispered debate outside her enclosure. Panting slightly with the effort, she sat up and called out in a scratchy voice, "Guys, you can come in. I'm awake." 

Her best friends' faces came into view; Hermione was startled to see tear streaks on Ron's cheeks. Harry didn't look any better; there were hollows under his eyes and his mouth kept twitching uncomfortably. 

The boys sat down at the edge of her bed and avoided making eye contact with Hermione. At first she figured that it was because she must look like a mess, but their silence continued for a full five minutes. Hermione was beginning to get annoyed. "Well, did you come here to inspect the paint job and floor tiles, or do you want to see me?" she asked dryly. 

Harry was the first to turn an anguished gaze to her defiant eyes. "We came," he said hoarsely, "To see you." 

"Well, are you going to say anything or ask me anything?" Hermione replied scathingly. 

Ron looked up at the sound of her icy voice. Hermione met his gaze and held it steadily for a few moments. Ron stared back as long as he could, but to Hermione's horror, his eyes began to tear up and he had to jerk his head away. Harry also turned his head. 

With a sigh, Hermione sank back against the pillows and inspected her nails. The trio sat in stony silence for another few minutes, when Harry and Ron abruptly leaped off the bed and fled the cubicle, Ron wiping his eyes with the back of his hand and sniffing 

Really, Hermione thought scornfully as she closed her eyes, what does he have to be so broken up over? It's not like Pigwidgeon died- 

With a gasp, Hermione's eyes flew open and her hands began to shake. You moron, her brained screamed, Ginny! 

Images flashed before Hermione's eyes once more; the white curtains before her bed became a movie screen for pictures of Death Eaters, Ginny, and her own small form: the memory of Ginny being hit in the back with the Killing Curse playing over and over in her mind like some sort of horror film. The pictures swirled around her and threatened to empty her stomach again. Squeezing her eyes shut, Hermione gripped the sides of the bed and willed them to leave her in peace. Hastily, she grabbed the bottle of Dreamless Sleep Potion off the nightstand and emptied the entire vial into her mouth. With a shudder, she fell into a coma-like sleep, and the bottle rolled out of her hand and smashed onto the floor. 

Madam Pomfrey heard the glass break and came rushing to Hermione's bed. She nearly swore when she saw the empty bottle and the dead expression upon Hermione's face, but she sighed in resignation and gently smoothed Hermione's wild hair away from her face. Well, at least she had a reason to OD, thought Pomfrey, because students have done that for a lot less than what she will have to deal with. She soundlessly left the cubicle. 

* * * 

It was nearly twenty hours later when Hermione awoke. She guessed that it was nearly midnight and turned her head towards the clock hanging on the opposite wall, then winced: Her headache was back with a vengeance. As her eyes became adjusted to the darkened ward, she noticed a rather large book sitting on her table. Funny, Hermione thought, I've never seen that one before. She reached blindly around for the book and instead felt a small piece of parchment sitting atop the tome. Eagerly she opened it, but her heart began to beat erratically as she skimmed the letter. 

_Dear Miss Granger,_

__

_I am sure you are curious about your current physical state, and as recent events have come into play, I feel that it would be wrong to deny you the information which you undoubtedly would like to know. While you were sleeping, I myself performed a diagnostic charm on you and was rather startled by the results. However, that was more than a day ago, and I have decided to be frank with you regarding the results of the test. I do not wish to alarm you, but as soon as you are feeling better, we must have a serious talk. In the meantime, I suggest that you read the bookmarked page in the book on your table; it may answer some of your questions. _

__

_Sincerely, _

_Professor Dumbledore _

__

__Hermione gulped audibly and reached again for the book. Heaving it upon her knees, she opened the dusty cover and flipped through the pages, trying to find the bookmark. As soon as she began to read the page she was on, which was entitled "Ressurection and its Symptoms," the pages began to turn at their own accord, The sheets stopped flipping at a page towards the end of the book, and the words which were "bookmarked" emitted a warm yellow glow; the rest of the page became dark and unreadable. Heart thumping frantically, Hermione looked at the page and read: 

__

_Of the many less-studied areas of modern magic, none is more illusive and dangerous than the __é__dification noire, first named by the French wizard Claude Rousseu de Champagne. One who possesses this power of said to be "__é__clair__é__(e)" or "enlightened." Occurrences of this gift appear less than one percent every three generations, so very little is known about what it is and why is happens. However, those few who have studied it have reached several conclusions that, while incomplete, have recently provoked and interest about __é__dification noire among several wizard researchers:_

__

_1) Those who are granted such a power are most often male; in the entire history of the wizarding world, only two witches are known to have possessed the gift: the legendary Rowena Ravenclaw, and her great-granddaughter Claire Paturia._

_2) Those with the gift are usually not identified until they have performed feats that are far too advanced in subjects, namely Charms, that are beyond their level of power at the time of the revealing._

__

_3) It has been noted that often trauma and stresses of unreasonable proportions have "triggered" the onset of __é__dification noire._

__

__At this statement, Hermione paused. If trauma caused it, then why wasn't Harry éclairé also? He certainly had been through some difficult situations. With a shrug, Hermione read on and made a mental note to research that point further. 

_4) While it remains to be proven, it is generally accepted that __é__dification noire causes a person to become more susceptible to the lure of Dark magic. In contrast, it is also stereotyped that if trained properly, an __é__clair__é__(e) will become a powerful foe to a Dark wizard._

__

__The entry ended there. Hermione shut the book and leaned back against her bed, suddenly dizzy. Merlin, she thought, I've really done it now, huh?__

__

_* * *_

__

__Meanwhile, Dumbledore was busy drafting a letter to the only person that he felt could help him with Hermione's newfound condition. Glancing at the dying embers of the fire, he hastily reread the letter: 

_Dear Julius,_

__

_I fear that I require your assistance on a matter of some urgency. A student of mine has just displayed the signs of being __é__clair__é__e. Yes, it is a girl: Hermione Granger. She is a brilliant student, loyal friend, and she is planning to study Arithmancy at Oxford. You know as well as I that given the current state of affairs in the Wizarding world, to not harness her powers would be unthinkable._

_Therefore, I ask that you come within the next week and meet Miss Granger. It will undoubtedly be a shock for her, but she is young and strong, and I have no doubt that she will accept the challenges that await in her future with grace and maturity._

__

_Sincerely, _

_Albus Dumbledore_

__

__Sighing, Dumbledore placed his quill on the desk and rubbed tiredly at his temples. Fawkes was away hunting; he would send him off with the letter when he returned. __

__

__


	4. Apprendre

A/N: As usual, thanks to all my reviewers for the support and encouragement: MidnightzStorm, Unique T, and Taya. Actually, Taya asked a question that I'm sure was meant to be serious, but it made me crack up and nearly wet my pants with its irony. She asked if I was a native English speaker, since "the use of French in this story seems to indicate otherwise..." Yes, English is my first language, but I have been studying French for nearly four years now. The question was so funny because my teacher has always told me that I'm completely hopeless at French, and that if I actually went to France I'd be shot. (Never mind the fact that I got 100% on the final, and most of the other students failed.) I guess I should clear up a few things before I go on with the story, as I'm sure some people are wondering where I'm going to take this. 

First of all, the idea for this fic came to me about a month before Book 5 was released, but I didn't start writing it until after I had read the latest installment and made slight changes to the plot of my story based on what I had read. 

Secondly, the fact that I use French is not vital to the story; it could have been any language, but I picked French because I had the most experience with its grammar, usage, etc. I sincerely hope that I'm not insulting and French readers out there (as my teacher is so sure I will be doing); if anyone spots any glaring mistakes with the French, by all means, send me a note! I don't want to look stupid. 

Thirdly, I estimate that this part of my fic will be anywhere from 10-20 chapters, possibly longer in the second book. I don't have any strict outline, but I do know the main events that will take place. 

Also, so far I have not felt the need to put any French/English translations when posting my chapters; I feel that the minimal foreign language I use is easy to figure out, as words such as "édification" are easily recognizable cognates. If you would like me to put the translations after each chapter, I will be happy to do so. No one has asked for them yet, so I haven't bothered. 

And finally, thanks to my beta Corazon for helping with this chapter. (I didn't actually reread it after I typed it, and there were tons of stupid mistakes.) Without further yapping, here's the next chappie! 

Chapter 4: Apprendre 

Hermione left the Hospital Wing a week later, still a but shaky, but otherwise fully healed. Within an hour of being back in the mainstream school, she sorely wished that she was still lying in bed, completely cut off from the rest of the other students again. The school itself was rather subdued; no one had entirely recovered from the attack. The teachers were also acting oddly; it was rumored that even mild little Professor Flitwick had put a student in detention for dropping his quill in class. The student, with the exception of the poor boy forced to bear Flitwick's wrath, were considerably quieter than Hermione had ever seen them. Just in the journey from the Hospital Wing to Gryffindor Tower, Hermione was immediately reminded of the time during her second year when the Chamber of Secrets had been opened. Except this time, she noted with a mental sigh, they're all acting like _I'm_ the freak, not Harry. Of course, they do have a reason to be wary. 

Indeed, during her long stay under Madam Pomfrey's care, Hermione had had plenty of time to think about her current predicament. Ever since she had read the excerpt from Dumbledore's book, she had found it almost impossible to sleep at night. Instead, she had lain awake staring into the darkness, trying to make sense of her life; often she wound up with massive headaches when she pondered her questions too deeply. 

Questions: her brain was full of them, and everyday she thought of fifty more. When she had tried to go back to the page in the Headmaster's book, she found all the sheets completely blank, their aged yellow hues revealing no written words at all. Hermione thought this extremely irritating; her only source of information, meager though it was, had gone. Dumbledore himself had not come to see her, which also irked Hermione greatly. In fact, not one person had come to see her since the appearance of the book; by the end of the week, Hermione was cringing openly when she recalled her snaps at Harry and Ron. 

The actual reason that her friends were so upset was a topic that Hermione avoided thinking about; every time she remembered that Ginny was dead because of her rush to save Harry, something in her stomach pushed to male a guest appearance. But she couldn't control her dreams. The few hours of sleep she took when utterly exhausted and unable to stay awake for a moment longer were always filled with the same dream of the Death Eaters, Ginny, Snape, and Draco Malfoy. The dream came so regularly that Hermione took to dumping the bottle of Dreamless Sleep Potion Madam Ponfrey left at her bedside in the toilet; apparently, the potion no longer had any effect on her traumatized mind, and Hermione found it easier to just avoid sleep completely than to thwart the dream in her potion-induced slumber. 

Running on practically no sleep made Hermione jumpy and nervous; sometimes in the dead of night she would lie on her back and her pulse would begin to race in fear; Hermione was more terrified of performing the same, seemingly Dark form of magic that she had done in the Great Hall. More than that, she was afraid of killing another classmate. Although she had not fully convinced herself that she was solely guilty for Ginny's death, she had not been able to shake off the perpetual feeling of having betrayed her friend. The lack of contact with the rest of the school only multiplied this fear; she figured that Dumbledore had forbidden anyone from seeing her until she was well, lest she kill them, too. Thus, she took all her medicinal potions (except for the Dreamless Sleep) without objection, having convinced herself through the ongoing solitude that once she returned back to classes she would be fully healed. 

When Madam Pomfrey had pronounced her cured, Hermione could not wait to get back to her studies. Aside from her fears, the tedium of staring at the same four white walls day in and day out had made her thirsty for intellectual stimulation. But her first class back with her peers quickly quenched that longing. 

It is so typical, Hermione thought darkly, that I have to walk back into the middle of a Potions class. She stood in front of the dark dungeon door for a full minute before she steeled herself and pushed it open to reveal her busy class. 

At first, no one noticed the small form illuminated against the door frame by the dim light of the corridor, but heads turned as Hermione, keeping her eyes trained on the worn stone floor, crossed the room and took her usual seat across from Malfoy. For five seconds there was absolute silence, then Snape, who had been eying Hermione like everyone else, snapped, "Get back to work!" 

Hermione unpacked her cauldron and ingredients, never looking up or showing any sign that she realized she was in a room full of gaping people. As she commenced to chop her knotgrass, the students once again returned to their projects, only to glance at her out of the corners of their eyes every few seconds and whisper behind their hands to their neighbors. 

Malfoy, on the other hand, felt no need to keep his thoughts private; as Hermione began searching for a quill in her bag, he leaned over, sneered, and said in a mock whisper, "Pity you couldn't save your friend... Oh yes, you did manage to save one of them, but the other, well, I guess Potter was a better catch than Weasley, although I suppose a Mudblood like you would actually _go_ for trash like Potter... " 

Hermione was almost awed by how quickly her anger surfaced. As Malfoy continued to put her down, her vision literally went red. She tried unsuccessfully to calm her racing heart, but as she glanced at Malfoy and saw his sneer, his bigotry presented in such a plain fashion, something inside snapped. Hermione looked at Malfoy's cauldron, where purple fumes were wafting from its surface, and, to Hermione's anger-impaired brain, curling like hands in the air, beckoning her to take action.... 

A second later, the potion had exploded all over its maker. Malfoy screamed in agony as the boiling liquid made contact with his skin. Hermione blinked once. The commotion of the room became distant and muted, and Hermione's feet took control of her body over her stunned mind. The last thing she remembered clearly was Snape's deep voice booming over the hubbub in the dungeon, shouting for order, contrasting sharply with Malfoy's high-pitched yells. 

Without quite knowing how she got there, Hermione found herself walking around the Entrance Hall like a caged animal in the zoo. She paced in circles for another minute, when a quiet voice calling her name from the stairwell caused her head to snap up. 

Professor Dumbledore stood halfway up the staircase, leaning on the banister and watching her with a very serious expression in his eyes. "Miss Granger," he said in that same quiet voice, "would you care to join me for a cup of tea?" 

Hermione heard his offer but did not process it for a long moment. Snapping out of her trance-like state, she blushed and hastily nodded her head. Dumbledore beckoned for her to follow him up the stairs. Feeling slightly perplexed and more than a little anxious, Hermione walked behind the Headmaster with her heart beating extremely fast; finally, she thought with a bit of a mental scream, I'm going to get some answers. 

* * * 

Dumbledore busied himself with preparing the tea, and Hermione settled her now-shaking body into one of the chairs by Dumbledore's desk. She closed her eyes and tried to take in deep, calming breaths, but her lungs didn't seem to be obeying her and every intake of air was alarmingly shallow and quivering. With her eyes closed, she didn't see the amused glance Dumbledore sent her way as he conjured a tray to carry the refreshments. "Really, Miss Granger, " he said in a soothing voice, "you have nothing to be afraid of. I simply want to talk with you." 

Hermione opened her eyes and looked at the Headmaster; his back was turned and she couldn't see his expression, yet she sensed that he was telling the truth. Allowing herself to relax slightly against she back of the chair, she surveyed the office as Dumbledore poured boiling water into the cups. Not much had changed since the last time she had been there in her fifth year. All the paintings were watching her with mildly pleasant expressions, although the man she recognized as Phineas Nigellus was scowling at her rather fiercely. Hermione hastily looked away from the painful reminder; another death, she thought morosely, and Sirius was just trying to save Harry, like me. Only he didn't make it. Her chin shuddered dangerously as she remembered Black's final moments, or at least what she could picture from Harry's belated description of his fight with the Death Eaters in the Ministry; as she had been unconscious when Sirius had died, she could only guess as to the horror Harry had faced. 

Dumbledore, finished making the tea, turned around to face Hermione for the first time since they had arrived in his office, causing Hermione to immediately feel like a bug under a microscope. The Headmaster had set his light blue gaze upon Hermione's apprehensive face, and his oddly pensive expression was making her squirm. She had never felt this way before; it seemed like the Headmaster was reading her thoughts. Well, duh, she thought sarcastically, he's a Legilemens, and you're probably broadcasting this idiocy to him like some sort of mental weakling. As the harsh words popped into her brain, the Headmaster glanced away and asked quite calmly, "Sugar, my dear?" 

Hermione almost cried out with the absurdity of his statement, but remembering that getting hysterical over Dumbledore's geniality would not help the situation, she bit her lip and nodded once more. Dumbledore handed her a cut of steaming tea, and Hermione wrapped her shaking hands around the hot china, grateful for something to occupy them. 

Dumbledore opened his mouth to begin the conversation, and before Hermione knew it, a string of words had popped out of her mouth: "Sir, do you usually read minds to get information?" Horrified at asking such a rude question in front of Dumbledore, of all people, she looked at the floor and blushed furiously. 

The headmaster only chuckled. "No, my dear, I was simply trying to find out why you are so very nervous. We have very serious things to discuss, things involving your future at this school." 

Hermione's teacup shook dangerously. Surely, surely he wasn't going to expel her for killing Ginny! She would have to explain, and do so calmly, but her voice caught in her throat and she could do nothing but trace the grain of the wood on Dumbledore's desk with her eyes. 

Dumbledore held up a hand. "First of all, I want you to relax, because you must be able to think clearly." Hermione took a deep breath and forced herself to look up; at the commanding expression in Dumbledore's eyes, she nodded, finally ready. 

Dumbledore reached under his desk and pulled out a large book, which Hermione recognized as the very one he had left at her bedside. "I trust you read the excerpt?" he inquired. "Yes, sir," Hermione said. 

"Then I suppose I should start there. Simply put, my dear, you are an éclairée. I felt it would be wrong to withhold this information from you as you lay secluded in the Hospital Wing, for I know that sometimes suspense is too much to bear, especially after dealing with an event of the magnitude with which you were forced to face." 

Hermione nodded; she knew all of this already. What she really wanted was to discuss the contents of the book in further detail, and as she formulated an innocent way of asking in her mind, Dumbledore continued on. 

"I myself have never dealt with an éclairée on a long-term basis, so I know little more than you do about the gift. But I will tell you what I do know, and we'll see if it answers some of those burning questions. 

"Like the book says, édification noire is a very rare thing. Most wizards don't even know about it, and almost no research on the subject has taken place since Monsieur Rousseau's discovery. This book," he gestured to the now-open pages before him, "this book is the only documented source of édification noire I could find, and as you saw when you read it, the information is limited at best. 

"Not knowing much about the subject myself, I wrote a letter to a friend while you were still incarcerated in the Hospital Wing. He wrote back promptly, and I wish to share his letter with you, because it is more informative than this old book is." Dumbledore reached into a drawer and pulled out a scroll of parchment. He unrolled it, scanned it for the part he was looking for, the said "Ah, here it is. 'If you have truly found an éclairée, and judging from our Floo conversation, you have, I suspect she will be rather tired and extremely volatile around magic for a while, at least.'" Dumbledore looked up at Hermione for confirmation. She nodded and he read on. "'I would keep her away from the other students for a few days, and I would tell her upfront that she is in for a bit of a lifestyle change.'" 

Hermione's eyes spontaneously filled with tears as she heard that line. Hasn't my life changed enough over the past week? she thought angrily. Screw this édification noire, I want to be normal again! 

Dumbledore surveyed Hermione over the top of the parchment. "Perhaps that is not the best way to do this," he said quietly, more to himself than for Hermione's benefit. "Well then, Miss Granger, why don't we do it your way and you can ask me questions, which I will answer as best as I can." 

Hermione drew a shaky breath and said, "How can you be sure I am an éclairée? I mean," she added hastily, "Harry's done advanced magic too, and he's not one, is he?" 

Dumbledore shook his head. "It is true that Mr. Potter knows some advanced charms, but there is a big difference between creating a Patronus and doing what you did." 

"But that's what I don't get!" Hermione cried. "What did I do? I remember a lot of black light, if that's even such a thing, and I remember... Ginny." She shuddered. 

Dumbledore put his hands to his temples and sighed. "I suspect you don't understand the power it took to do what you did. Perhaps you would like to see it from another viewpoint?" He got up and walked over to a cabinet where he carefully removed a shallow basin with runic designs engraved on its sides. "Pensieve," he said, for Hermione looked rather confused. She nodded her understanding; though she had never seen this instrument, Harry had told her what is was and how it worked. Dumbledore carried the basin to his desk and set it down. Hermione leaned forward and saw a swirling mess of some milky-white substance, but it was like nothing she had ever seen before. Neat, she thought, this stuff is thoughts? Dumbledore placed his wand to his forehead and removed a long string of the white stuff; Hermione watched in fascination as he transferred the strand of thought to the bowl, and she was startled to see her own face, white and ghostly, appear on the surface. "On the count of three, dear, stick a finger in the bowl. I'll come with you and explain as it unfolds." Hermione gulped. "One... Two.... Three!" Both she and the Headmaster dipped a finger in the Pensieve and Hermione felt a jolt as they were transported into his memories. 

* * * 

"You'll forgive the haze, Miss Granger, but I was rather occupied as these events were going on, " said Dumbledore from her left. Hermione looked around in wonder. She was standing behind the High Table, and Dumbledore was standing at her side, surveying the scene calmly. Hermione gasped out loud; on her other side stood a second Dumbledore, frantically giving orders to the other teachers, who were running around and shooting spells at a thick fog hovering in front of them. 

With a start, Hermione realized that the fog was actually the wall of energy that had prevented the teachers from interfering in the battle. It looked remarkably benign from this side though, and Hermione figured that this was intentional, for it confused the teachers because they could not figure out what it really was. The Dumbledore on her left stated with a faint trace of disappointment, "I realize now what the spell was... clever of the Death Eaters to confuse us so... I might have been able to help had I known..." He shook his head as if to clear it, then pointed out through the wall towards a small figure dueling with two Death Eaters. 

Hermione gasped again. The figure was none other than herself, and she was fighting vigilantly, when she saw herself turn and run away. Embarrassed, she looked away, but Dumbledore caught her arm and said firmly, "Sometimes the valiant gesture is best saved for when it is needed. You did nothing wrong by running away." 

Hermione forced herself to look back at her memory-self. She watched solemnly as the girl in front of her disappeared from view; she now vaguely recalled trying to use the Disillusionment Charm. Suddenly, the memory-Hermione reappeared and Stunned the Death Eaters. Hermione felt a surge of pride at that. I guess running wasn't such a bad idea after all, she thought. 

The feeling quickly faded, though, when Hermione watched another Death Eater sneak up behind her distant form and place a hand on her shoulder. Feeling sick, she watched her memory-self fend off the lusty Death Eater, and then run away again, also disappearing again with the use of the charm. 

As her fighting body vanished, Hermione remembered how Snape, using the same charm, had prodded her to rejoin the fight. She tried to recall exactly where she had been standing, but all she knew was that is was somewhere near the closed doors. Craning her neck around Professor McGonagall, who had just rushed in front of Hermione and began shouting incantations at the wall, Hermione felt her breath hitch as she saw herself reappear, knowing what was coming and wishing she had never agreed to replay this scene, this horrible video that had started all of her problems.... 

Hermione watched herself turn back around to see the Death Eater cast the Killing Curse at Harry. She almost shouted out loud, then realized that she was in a memory, not the actual event. Horrified once more, she saw her feet begin to pick up an incredible pace; from this point of view, it really looked like she was flying. She watched as a dim light radiated off her body, and watched as it grew stronger as she ran towards Harry. She watched as her memory-self, now radiating full beams of pearly light, smacked into Harry and narrowly avoided being hit with Avada Kedavra herself. And she watched, utterly transfixed, as the light hit Ginny Weasley in the back, at which point she nearly started screaming out loud. 

She couldn't watch; she couldn't relive it anymore. Hermione put her hand to her eyes, but no sooner had her fingers touched her face than her hands were wrenched off and her head was forced to turn back to the scene. "I'm sorry, Miss Granger, "said Dumbledore's voice in her ear, "but you must see this. It is very important." 

Crying softly, Hermione watched as the white light pouring off her body changed to scarlet, then, just as she had unknowingly described in Dumbledore's office, went_ black_. The light seemed to grow like it was alive, and Hermione's head began spinning. Then, when it seemed like the black light could not swell anymore or it would swallow her memory-self whole, it exploded into thin slivers, which, seemingly guided by an outside force, shot into the stomachs of every person in the hall. A resounding BOOM echoed through the cavernous room, and the memory-girl fell to the floor. After a moment, she stirred and crawled, very clumsily and almost like she was crawling to her death, towards the still body of Ginny Weasley. 

As her memory-self bent over the dead girl, the Hall began to dissolve around Hermione, and she felt a pressure under her arm; Professor Dumbledore's hand was holding her elbow, dragging her back into his office. 

* * * 

Neither Dumbledore nor Hermione said anything once they were back in their respective seats. Hermione sat still, tears streaming down her cheeks but not bothering to wipe them away. Dumbledore was avoiding her gaze, she figured, to give her some time to compose herself. Still sniffling, she turned her face up towards Dumbledore, and said in barely more than a whisper, "It looked different from there." 

Dumbledore looked up at her and murmured, "Indeed...." 

"It was, I mean, it felt much slower when it actually happened, and I don't remember all the bits about the light, I suppose I was out of it by then...." She trailed off. 

Dumbledore gazed at Hermione piercingly for a long minute. Finally he said, "You asked me how I knew you were éclairée. The memory is the answer. That stuff that looked like light- it wasn't really light. Magic in its purest form resembles light to the human eye, but it also manifests itself in other ways- through the use of spells in transfigured items, in potions ingredients, etc. What was coming off your body was a very elemental form of magic, and it was only spurned by your desire to protect Harry." He paused to let the words sink in, then continued on. "I myself never realized the power that you possess- and Hermione, this power is nothing more than that- power- and it can be molded and shaped into anything. Don't let yourself think for one instant that you are turning to the Dark, because you're not. Saving Harry was the most noble thing a Gryffindor could do in a situation like that, and Ginny's death was no more your fault than it was Harry's." 

Hermione remained silent for a minute before responding. "I feel so guilty though... and Harry and Ron are, er, avoiding me..." She sighed and ran her hands through her messy hair. "I didn't mean to be so harsh...." 

Dumbledore interrupted. "You were sick in the Hospital Wing at the time, and Harry and Ron couldn't understand why you had forgotten about Ginny's death. I'm sure they would forgive you if they knew." 

Hermione frowned. "But why was I so sick? As far as I can tell, I didn't do anything more than unconsciously perform a spell back there in the Hall...." 

Dumbledore shook his head. "What you did was much more than a simple spell. Wandless magic, though useful, is very difficult to manipulate. Most wizards don't even attempt to perform spells without a wand, and you did it without even knowing it." He eyed Hermione over the desk; she was sitting still and staring out the window, a very faraway look in her eyes. "Hermione, you know what a wand is for?" 

Hermione answered, still gazing out the window. "It concentrates the spell, like a laser, and enables us to direct the magic at someone or something without being affected ourselves...." 

"Exactly. Magical power cannot be measured like Muggle electricity, because magic depends on intent, and vice versa. When you realized that Harry was in danger, your magical alert system immediately went into overdrive, and it began putting out massive amounts of power to help you save him. You didn't realize it at the time, of course, but you must have noticed something odd about your surroundings as you ran. Am I correct?" 

Something dawned on Hermione. "Time.... I felt it slow down.... I was racing the green light from the Death Eater's wand...." 

Dumbledore sat back in his chair. "Yes, I realized afterwards when I watched you in the Pensieve that something of that nature must have happened. As you saw when you visited my memory, you appeared to be running very fast from my perspective, but from yours you must have felt like things were going slower than normal." Hermione nodded. "Well then, that explains how you got to Harry so fast. But you saw the white light coming off you... what happened as you watched Ginny being hit with Avada Kedavra?" 

"I.... I felt angry.... but it was angrier than I had ever felt before... and then it just seemed to grow out of control.... I couldn't control it..." 

Dumbledore didn't answer right away. "I know, because when the light, er, exploded, shall we say, you fell to the floor. After I had dealt with the Stunned Death Eaters, I carried you to the Hospital Wing and checked you magical reserves.... You gave me quite a fright, my dear. I didn't know if you would make it through the next hour." 

Hermione looked into Dumbledore's eyes, shocked, and then said, "But sir, if I was so close to death, how did I manage to recover? Harry and Ron- when they were still speaking to me- said I'd only been up there for a little while, and I don't remember anything else about the time immediately after the attack-" 

Dumbledore looked faintly amused. "Well, of course you don't. Believe me, you had us worried like I'd never been before. Even Professor Snape didn't know how to cure you, or bring you out of the coma-" 

Hermione interrupted this time. "_Snape_ tried to save me?" she asked, incredulous. 

"_Professor_ Snape, Hermione, and yes, he was the one who made the potion which revived you, and he also brewed the other medicinal potions that kept you alive those first few days." 

Hermione digested this information with a fair degree of apprehension. Snape, the old bat, helped keep her alive? It didn't seem possible. She exhaled in resignation, then turned back to Dumbledore. "Professor, what does this all mean? I... I don't have to go away, do I?" 

A long pause followed that question. Dumbledore gazed into the firs and seemed to phrase his sentence very carefully. "Hermione, now that your power is exposed, I fear that we must make the most of it." Hermione began to protest, but Dumbledore gave her a look and she quieted. "As I was saying, it would be a crime not to train you properly, and there are... other circumstances to consider...." He sighed. "I will not make the decision for you; I only ask that you hear me out before you make up your mind." 

"Lord Voldemort has been gaining strength over the past year, regardless of what the Ministry will tell you. The Death Eaters who attacked Hogwarts... They were new recruits. He is gaining followers, Hermione, and our side has not made any progression in the fight. You read the description in the book. " He pointed to the old tome, still sitting open on the desk. "What did the last line say?" He answered the question himself. "'An éclairé(e) will make a powerful foe to a Dark wizard." 

A very pregnant pause hung after this sentence. Hermione whispered, "So... So I have to face the Dark Lord?" 

Dumbledore hurriedly shook his head. "No, no, that job rests with Mr. Potter. Er...." He looked uncomfortable at Hermione's confused expression; apparently, Harry had not told her of the prophecy. He gave her a highly edited version of his and Harry's conversation at the end of last year, then continued with his original point. "Although it is Harry's job to defeat Voldemort, that's not to say he can do it alone. I know that he has always managed to avoid being killed, but don't think for one second that he will be able to defeat all the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord single-handedly. No, if it comes down to the Final Battle, Harry will need support.... 

"Miss Granger, if I could, I would train you myself. However, I am not éclairé and I would have no idea how to best harness your strengths. The friend I told you about- Mr. Nye is his name- is the only person I can think of who will be able to help us. Please consider it, Miss Granger..." he asked pleadingly. 

"Consider what?" Hermione asked, not really wanting to know the answer. 

"Mr. Nye works at a school in France- perhaps you've heard of Barnabie Institute? No? Well, it is a very famous, prestigious school. They only teach the very best at Barnabie. I think that it would be in your best interest to go there for a while and learn to use your power. We may have need of it before long." 

"But what would I be doing there?" 

"I'm not entirely sure, as their curriculum is not made public. I suspect Mr. Nye would teach you himself...." He paused, as if hesitating to reveal something important, then, throwing caution to the wind, said, "Mr. Nye is éclairé also. He would teach you. You would be under his expertise which, unfortunately for us, is far superior to my own. I'm sorry, Hermione, I don't want you to go, but I think it would be best." Dumbledore averted his eyes. 

Hermione remained surprisingly calm. "What would I have to do in the meantime?" 

Dumbledore sighed. "They do not accept transfer students, especially so late in your educational career. You would have to take your NEWTs this year and score quite high to even be considered for admission a year early. But Miss Granger, I have no doubt that you could do that. I know you're far more advanced than you let on." 

"Sir, I'll need to think it over first.... I'm not sure if I want to go quite yet...." 

Dumbledore nodded. "Of course. I've invited Mr. Nye to see you tomorrow; perhaps he will provide some more answers for both of us. In the meantime, I ask you not to discuss this with anyone." 

Hermione agreed, then, noticing how late it had gotten, quickly bade the Headmaster good-bye and walked back to Gryffindor Tower, feeling like she had not gotten the answers she had craved, but hopeful that tomorrow would bring more information. 

A/N: Phew, that was my longest chapter yet! A quick note- I read somewhere that Rowling herself said that there were no Wizarding colleges, but hey, this is my story, and if I want Hermione to continue her education, I'm sure J.K. won't care. Besides, I think Barnabie will be a bit different from the typical Wizarding college in most other fics. Not that my ideas are anywhere near the level of greatness of some fics, but oh well. By the way, "Barnabie" was originally spelled "Barnaby," but I figured that because the school is in France, I might as well give it a sort-of-French name. Stay tuned- the next chapter will be up soon! Also, I love getting reviews; hell, I'd even take a flame. 


	5. Décider

A/N: I am very sorry for the delay in posting this chapter, but I went on a last-minute vacation two weeks ago, and I didn't have internet access. When I got home, I had a ton of other work to catch up on, and I just couldn't find the time to sit down and write the next chapter. Although this brings up a good point: With my school starting soon, I doubt I will be able to post weekly. If I'm lucky, I think I can post once every two weeks, but that is not a guarantee. I apologize for the inconvenience. 

Thanks to my beta Coarzon for her extremely prompt, overnight response. 

Chapter 5: Décider 

Hermione walked slowly back up to the Gryffindor dorms. The halls are unusually quiet, she noted blandly. Maybe Dumbledore's keeping them inside at night. 

When she reached the fat lady's portrait, she paused for a second before clearing her throat loud enough to wake the snoozing guardian. "Password?" the fat lady asked while trying to conceal a yawn. 

"Er...." Hermione didn't know the current password. She decided to take the risk and try the one that had been in use before her hospital stay. "Unicorn Horn?" 

Was it just her, or did the fat lady look a bit alarmed at her guess? "No, I'm sorry. That is incorrect. You may not enter." With that, the fat lady gave Hermione one last glare before she calmly walked out of her portrait. 

Hermione backed up against the wall and sank to the floor. She closed her eyes, but the headache pounding behind her forehead only seemed to become stronger, swimming with the swirling colors on her eyelids. She tried to breathe deeply, but again, her lungs seemed intent on depriving her of any oxygen that might help her think clearly. Sighing heavily, Hermione opened her eyes and looked down the darkened corridor. Blinking to get the flashes of light to disappear from her vision, she nearly had a heart attack when she saw three figures, all clad in dark robes, hurrying down the hallway straight towards her spot on the stone floor. Crikey, she thought, what have I done now? 

Snape, McGonagall, and Dumbledore's faces came into view as they neared Hermione. Trying to avoid eye contact, Hermione glanced at the portrait frames lining the corridor and was mildly surprised to see the fat lady hurrying along beside the professors, looking rather pleased with herself. When the group was no less than three feet from Hermione's crouched form, she suddenly stood up, her shadow throwing the teachers into a sheet of darkness that startled them into drawing their wands. Snape was the first to break the tense silence. "Who's there?" he asked with a hint of warning. 

For a brief moment, Hermione considered remaining quiet, just to see what they would do. But her good side won over, and she answered meekly, "It's me... Hermione." 

The professors looked at each other and slowly lowered their wands. "Miss Granger," said McGonagall with a nervous little chuckle, "What are you doing here?" 

Hermione tried to formulate an appropriate response. Hastily she glanced at the fat lady, who was now sitting comfortably again in her own portrait, eying her with a smug grin. "I... I didn't know the password..." 

"You see, professors? She was trying to break in. The little Death Eater must have come back for an encore, I think-" 

"You thought wrong," Snape cut in bitterly. "Really, this makes the third false alarm this week. I'm getting quite sick of these little nighttime scares. Headmaster," he turned to Dumbledore, "what should we do?" 

Dumbledore looked at Snape, and Hermione could have sworn she saw his eyes twinkle a bit. "Do, Severus?" he asked mildly. "Well, for starters, we should give Miss Granger the password and let her get some sleep-" 

Snape interrupted. "That's another thing. Where was she, when all the other students have been given express orders not to leave the common rooms after sundown?" He glared down at Hermione. "Was she, perhaps, wandering the halls in search of something?" he asked in a whisper. 

"That is none of your concern, Severus," Dumbledore said firmly. Snape turned his head and looked at the Headmaster, clearly wishing to take points off from Gryffindor for Hermione's inability to give a plausible explanation. That's no surprise, thought Hermione with a bitter inward laugh. With all the students in the dorms, he has no one to give detentions to when he patrols. 

Snape backed away from Hermione. Still glaring at the Headmaster, he put his wand back in his robes and folded his arms across his chest. Dumbledore turned back to McGonagall. "Minerva, if you would please take Miss Granger inside?" 

"Of course, Professor. Come along, Miss Granger. Gillyweed," she said briskly. The fat lady sighed deeply and swung open. Hermione climbed into the hole and was about to walk away from the trio of teachers in the hallway when a quiet voice made her turn around. "Good night, Miss Granger," said Dumbledore. He and McGonagall turned and swished away down the hallway, leaving Snape and Hermione staring at each other through the portrait hole. They remained staring at each other for a long moment, and Hermione felt an oddly familiar sensation begin to build up in her chest- something that reminded her all too much of the feeling right before she lost control of the light in the Great Hall. Hermione nearly shivered under Snape's harsh gaze, then, as she was about to say something, the portrait swung closed, leaving a very relieved Hermione to face the rest of her peers, alone. 

* * * 

As Hermione turned away from the blank back of the portrait, she found that nearly everyone in Gryffindor was standing around the common room. That would not have been so unusual, Hermione thought frantically, if they weren't all staring at _me_. Merlin help me, she found herself praying. Well, what did you expect? her brain screamed. They haven't seen you for a long time now. Of course they're acting weird. 

Hermione stood still, gazing around the room. It would not have been so bad for her shy public self had the students greeted her with open arms. But the group in front of her could not have contrasted more with that happy image. Every single person was staring at her intently, hatred written in every eye. Hermione was momentarily stunned by the sight of Neville Longbottom, who was standing closest to her and displaying perhaps the most disgusted look of them all. 

As if controlled by an invisible force, the crowd parted swiftly and allowed her a glimpse of the fireplace, where, to Hermione's immense dismay, sat Harry and Ron. Their chairs were facing the fireplace and Hermione could not see their faces, but they were sitting up ramrod-straight and could not have looked more conspicuous in the silent room than if they had been breakdancing on the coffee tables. Hesitantly, Hermione took a few steps towards the hearth, and the crowd shifted slightly to accommodate her. The students seemed eager to keep a respectable distance from Hermione, so although the room was packed to bursting, Hermione didn't even brush up against anyone. 

A lump formed in Hermione's throat as she neared Harry and Ron's turned chairs. She froze. Her head was spinning; she couldn't possibly deal with this now. She stopped moving, not three feet from her friends but entirely too close for her current liking. As she tried to get a grip on her racing heart, the two boys began to turn around. Hermione watched in horror as their stoic faces came into view. The fire behind them threw their faces into a deep shadow, so their features seemed distorted and exaggerated, almost to the point of being comical. But to Hermione, they simply looked like the leaders of the lynch mob of students. Being boys, they towered over her; Hermione felt like a mouse to their lions. She couldn't take it anymore. The faces, the stillness, it was all too much. Turning abruptly and almost tripping over a stray textbook, she ran towards the dormitory stairs and didn't pause to look back. 

Hermione half hopped, half stumbled up the staircase. She didn't bother to look where she was going, and thus ran straight into a very large object on the landing. "Oomph! Oh... Oh my..." 

A very rumpled, very tired looking Mrs. Weasley gazed down at Hermione, who was lying on the floor and muttering incoherently. Without so much as offering a hand to help her up, the tired woman simply continued down the stairs. As Hermione struggled to sit up, she nearly had her head taken off by a large wooden trunk that whooshed over her body and proceeded to follow Mrs. Weasley down the stairs. Hermione thought vaguely of Mrs. Weasley's rule about not using magic on trunks when transporting down the stairs, but the thought was pushed out of her mind as a pair of thin legs stepped over her body and proceeded to follow Mrs. Weasley down the staircase. Hermione craned her neck to see who the legs belonged to, and was mildly shocked to find that Mr. Weasley, looking especially disheveled, had walked right past her without so much as a nod of acknowledgment. Fighting back the tears that had threatened to spill since after her run-in with the teachers in the hallway, Hermione pulled herself to her feet and walked slowly to her room. Upon opening the door, she found the entire dormitory empty. Without even pausing to wonder why, Hermione collapsed on her bed and pulled her hangings closed, muffling her sobs into her pillow. 

Her roommates didn't show up all night. Hermione lay still for a long time, far into the wee hours of the morning, staring blankly into the darkness and wondering whether this blatant hostility would be temporary. 

* * * 

Hermione was seriously considering skipping breakfast, but the thought of spending any more time in her deserted room was too much to bear. In truth, she was starved for social interaction; she wanted to talk to someone, anyone, and get rid of this nagging feeling that the entire world hated her guts. So she dressed quickly and made her way through the empty corridors towards the Great Hall. 

At first, Hermione had a fleeting feeling that perhaps today wouldn't be such a disaster. As in her potions class the day before, no one really noticed her when she first stepped through the doors. Too bad they can't just ignore me, thought Hermione, as the entire school seemed to turn their heads in one swift movement, leaving Hermione cowering under their scowls. 

Looking down at the floor, Hermione slid into a seat at the Gryffindor table, careful not to look up at anyone. She pretended not to notice when a group of third-years who had been sitting across from her abruptly got up and left in silence. She could still feel the glares of the other students on her back, although their conversations has resumed to some degree. Still, even the normal breakfast chatter was muted; it was rather like someone had turned the volume of the entire room down a few notches. 

Hermione looked at the heaps of food lining the table before her, and immediately felt sick at the thought of putting any of it in her stomach. Instead, she poured herself a glass of pumpkin juice and held it in tow hands, raising it to her lips every few seconds and trying not to scream. 

An eternity passed; Hermione was afraid to get up, yet she didn't want to stay there a moment longer. After finally gathering enough courage, Hermione stood up quietly and slipped out the door. No one even noticed her leaving. 

An immense feeling of relief washed over her as she made her way down the corridor. Turning her head back towards the hall to prove to herself that she really had escaped, Hermione ran headfirst into a very solid object and winced as two strong arms caught her before she fell to backwards to the floor. 

"Miss Granger," Professor Snape hissed, "Will you please watch where you're going!" 

"Sorry, sir," Hermione muttered. 

She tried to move around him and continue down the hallway, but Snape didn't seem to want to move. Finally Hermione looked up at him and was startled by the expression of.... Well, she didn't know how to name that expression, because she had definitely never seen it on Snape before. It was extremely unnerving, seeing the man with something other than a scowl plastered on his sallow face. 

"Miss Granger," Snape said, "Professor Dumbledore wishes to see you this morning before you go to Charms. He is waiting for you in his office now." 

Hermione nodded and turned in the opposite direction from which she had been coming from. She restrained herself from breaking into a solid sprint to get away from this peculiar Snape. Instead, she trotted along at a light jog, not noticing that Snape had not left the spot where she had run into him. Had she turned around, perhaps she would have had a heart attack, for Snape, the "greasy git," was grinning openly in the most nefarious was possible. 

* * * 

Hermione knocked timidly on Dumbledore's door after climbing the spiral staircase, wanting to be anywhere but there at the present moment. Unfortunately for her nerves, Dumbledore answered promptly and practically had to push her into a chair by his desk; Hermione's feet seemed to have forgotten how to walk. 

"My dear, I do wish you'd stop getting so distraught when I simply ask to speak to you," Dumbledore said with a sigh. Hermione didn't say anything, so Dumbledore went on. "As I told you yesterday, my friend Mr. Nye wishes to meet you. He is making a special appointment during his busy schedule to come here and see you." 

Hermione's eyes widened, and her heart started beating uncomfortably against her ribs. No, he can't come here, she thought. Dumbledore had said that this Mr. Nye, whoever he was, was éclairé also. Seeing him would make this whole nightmare seem all too real for Hermione, who was not used to being under so much pressure. True, Dumbledore had not made her commit to any course of action yet, but just being back in the school with the other students was a trial in itself. Hermione wasn't sure how much more trauma she could take. 

The minutes ticked by slowly. Dumbledore once again busied himself preparing tea, and Hermione watched an owl fly around outside the window. Without warning, the fireplace glowed green, and in a cloud of ashes a man clad in a black trench coat and what appeared to be black suede leather cowboy boots calmly stepped out and surveyed the office. Hermione could only gape. 

"Albus, old friend!" the man exclaimed in a booming voice that Hermione could have sworn shook the fragile glass objects on Dumbledore's desk. The Headmaster didn't seem to mind though. He strode over to this oddly-dressed man and offered his hand. "It's good to see you again, Juilius," he replied with a smile. "Please, come sit down. Tea will be ready in a moment." 

Mr. Nye took a chair close to Hermione, and she was able to get a good look at him. Immediately her mind jumped to a long-buried picture in a muggle magazine, one that depicted a hawk perched on the arm of a scientist. The resemblance was rather startling. Nye had the same kind of beaky nose, and his eyes didn't seem to blink at all. But his most prominent feature was undoubtedly his eyebrows. They were thick and bushy, like woolly caterpillars, and they were as black as a raven feather. Hermione was forcibly reminded of a Russian she had studied in primary school, but whose name she couldn't remember for a frustrating moment until finally is surfaced in her mind: Brezhnev. Hmmm, she thought, I wonder if he's Russian... 

She was snapped out of her speculation when Nye, whose back had been facing Hermione, suddenly turned around and settled his unblinking gaze on her. "And you must be Miss Hermione Granger," he said in that same booming voice. Hermione gave a minute nod. "Well, it's a pleasure to finally meet you, Miss Granger. Ah, may I call you Hermione?" Again, she nodded. 

Dumbledore had by then finished preparing the tea, and he settled the tray on the desk before settling himself in the chair behind it. Perhaps out of habit, he folded his hands on the desk, and Hermione was slightly reassured by this familiar gesture. Dumbledore turned to Mr. Nye, who was busy pouring some tea over what looked like half a glass full of sugar. "So Julius, after you deplete my supply of sugar, would you care to talk to Miss Granger and myself? We still have some issues to clear up." 

Mr. Nye took a swig of his drink, which now resembled a thick sort of syrup, and nodded. "I'll be happy to answer any questions you have." 

Dumbledore eyed the man with just a hint of distaste. "Well Julius, you've seen the pensieve. What do you think?" 

Nye lowered his teacup. "She's definitely an éclairée. There's no doubt about that." Hermione felt her stomach sink at this phrase. She had been so hopeful that it was all a big mistake, that she wasn't special after all, that everyone was acting strange around her because she had bad breath, not because she had really killed Ginny Weasley.... 

Both Dumbledore and Nye turned to look at her as these thoughts echoed through her brain. Hermione's eyes widened; once again, she felt unsafe in her own mind, because obviously Nye was a Legilemens also. The two men quickly glanced away, and Hermione ordered herself to control her thoughts. 

Dumbledore cleared his throat and delicately took a sip of tea. "As I was saying, we still have some questions. First of all, you agree that she needs to be trained properly?" Nye nodded in earnest. "Well, if that's the case, we need to know what that training would entail, how long it would take, that sort of thing." 

Nye thought for a moment before answering. "I'd first like to spend some time with Hermione over the summer, getting to know her and assessing her abilities. Of course, she'll have to take her N.E.W.T.s to be admitted to Barnabie in the fall, but I received her transcript; she's smart enough to handle N.E.W.T. material." 

Hermione felt something like a lead weight slide into her stomach. "Professor," she said quickly, "I could do the N.E.W.T.s now, but I really don't think there's enough_ time, _what with all my classes and other work..." 

Dumbledore waved his hand. "My dear, if you choose this path, you will be exempt from your normal classes. I myself can teach you if it means getting you through the exams properly. Please continue, Julius." 

"After the summer, you would enter Barnabie as a full-time student. You'd keep all your regular courses, but you'd essentially be specializing in one particular area, which of course would be under my supervision-" 

Hermione interrupted. "Mr. Nye, sir, I am still unclear about what this éclairée thing is. I mean," she added hastily, for Nye's piercing eyes had landed on her again, "I want to know what I would be learning about and... things like that," she finished lamely. 

Nye didn't seem to know what to say. "Yes, I can see the problem," he muttered to himself. "You don't know the extent of what you can do..." Clearing his throat, he turned back to Hermione and said seriously, "You're muggle- born? Have you any recollection of seeing any of the _Star Wars_ movies?" 

Hermione was baffled by this question, and Dumbledore was downright lost. However, she nodded and both allowed Nye to continue. "Well, you can think of édification noire as something very similar to 'The Force' in those movies. Of course, those movies are entirely fictional, but the basic premise of édification noire is the same. Basically, it means that you are more in touch with yourself and your powers than your peers, and you are thus better able to harness outside forces when you need them. Take, for example, what happened the day of the Death Eater attack. You summoned extra power in order to save your friend. Remember what that power looked like? It looked like black light, didn't it? Well, that light was the extra force you were using. The very phrase 'édification noire' means 'black enlightenment.'" 

Neither Hermione nor Dumbledore said anything after this extraordinary explanation. Hermione was the first to break the pause. "So... So this power... This édification noire... Why me?" she blurted out finally. 

Nye sighed. "No one knows why some people receive the gift. If it not like anything else in the magical world. It is not transmitted through bloodlines, nor can it be learned. It simply exists where it does, without any sort of pattern or logic. It is something I have been trying to figure out for a long time." 

"So what would I be learning it Barnabie?" Hermione asked. 

"Like I said, you'd continue to take all your courses. Your schedule would be something like four hours of regular classes in the morning, then lunch, then four hours of training with me. You would have less homework in your other classes, and a bit more from me. You must keep in mind that Barnabie is not a school for the general wizard public; it is for only those students who have displayed extraordinary talents in specific areas of study. Each student studies privately under the supervision of a staff member." 

"How many pupils have you had?" asked Hermione. 

"Actually, I've not taught any of the students. You'd be my first," said Nye with a bit of an apologetic smile. 

"So you've never taught anyone, yet you want me leave Hogwarts and study with you?" Hermione asked incredulously. 

"Just because I've never taught another person, Hermione, does not mean that I am an incompetent teacher. How do you think I learned to be an éclairé in the first place?" Nye asked, but without any sort of sneer in his voice. 

"You mean to say," Hermione said in wonder, "that you taught _yourself_?" 

"Yes, but only because there was no one else to teach me. If you come study with me, you won't face any of the difficulties or, ah, accidents that I had to endure as I developed my power." 

Hermione looked at Dumbledore, who was watching Nye closely. "Professor, what should I do?" she asked, her voice strangely higher than normal. 

"Miss Granger, I told you yesterday that I think it would be foolish not to take this chance while you have it. If you choose to stay at Hogwarts, I will be delighted, of course, but if you choose to go with Nye, I will be ecstatic. Nothing could be better for you right now." 

Hermione looked away. It made sense, really it did. But the thought of leaving Hogwarts even a minute before she had to was almost unbearable. However, other things were weighing on Hermione's mind also. She thought of Harry and Ron and their stony silence towards her since she had been in the Hospital Wing. She thought of the other students and how they seemed intent on shunning her into oblivion. She thought of the Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and how they too seemed angry at her. And she thought of Ginny and how her own uncontrolled power had led to the tragic death of her friend. The idea of causing another death due to her inability to control herself finally tipped Hermione's mind over the edge. 

"I'll go to Barnabie," Hermione said resolutely. "I'll become a properly trained éclairée, and I'll help Harry fight Voldemort." 

Dumbledore gave her a pleased grin. "Congratulations, Miss Granger. I know we can expect wonderful things from you in the future." 

Nye cleared his throat. "Well, if that's all, Albus, I'd best be going now." 

"Certainly, certainly," said Dumbledore. "I will contact you soon" 

Nye nodded his approval. He faced Hermione and said with the air of one giving a funeral oration, "I look forward to working with you, Hermione. I shall see you soon. Good luck on your tests. Oh, here's something that might come in helpful." He pulled a shiny Time-Turner out of his coat pocket and placed it in Hermione's hand. "Now you'll have all the time you need. And don't worry, your Ministry can't trace it; it's mine. Take care." With that, he grabbed a pinch of Floo powder and stepped into the fireplace, calling, "Barnabie Institute, Nye's office!" He disappeared in a swirl of green flame, and Hermione tucked the tiny hourglass under her robes, a silent promise to herself that she would see this through until the end. 

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	6. Penser

A/N: I realize that it has been several months since I've updated, and all I can do is offer my sincerest apologies. Life has been tough, and I haven't had a chance to do anything remotely leisurely for a while now, let alone keep this story going. However, I have sorted things out and will now, hopefully, be able to update this every few weeks. I would love to get some more reviews! (But no, that was definitely NOT a hint!) 

Thanks to my new btea Ashleigh for editing this chapter so quickly. Also, thanks to Tiffie101for the kind review! 

Chapter 6: Penser 

Hermione slept badly that night. Once again, her roommates were conspicuously absent, thus felt no need to even feign sleep. Over and over she recounted her conversation with Dumbledore and Nye. She had been unable to do anything else for the rest of the day after the discussion; instead of trying to concentrate on Charms, Hermione spent the day in the Common Room, her books open on the table but her eyes not on the page. 

Since making her resolution to pass the NEWTs and attend Barnabie, Hermione finally felt like she could redeem herself. Well, maybe not with the other students, she thought rather sadly, but that couldn't be helped. 

Normally, when Hermione received a big project, she dove right in and would not come up for air until even she had outperformed her own expectations. Preparing for the NEWTs was arguably the biggest task she had ever been presented, but already a day had slipped by since the meeting and she had not even tried to study. Hermione couldn't explain why she suddenly couldn't stand to read a chapter in a book, but the Time Turner, being securely tucked under her robes, definitely added to her procrastination. After all, she now had all the time in the world, did she not? 

After three days of sitting in solitude, the students were starting to give her strange looks. At least, they were less menacing than before. Hermione certainly looked a wreck. She hadn't showered, her clothes were rumpled, and her eyes were red and dry from all the sleepless nights. If someone had given her a bottle of butterbeer, she would have resembled no one so much as Winky on the downside of manic depression. 

Having not ventured out of Gryffindor Tower all week, Hermione was unaware of how many teachers were getting concerned. Had she attended breakfast on the third day after the meeting, she would have witnessed Professor McGonagall being bombarded with questions about her welfare form all the other teachers. Well, from all save Snape, who was as impassive as ever. 

Hermione found it difficult to sit still that day. It was Saturday, and impending exams insured that the majority of the Gryffindors spent the day inside, studying. No one paid any mind to Hermione, who sat slouched in an armchair with her back to the other students. Harry and Ron had glanced at her briefly before heading out the portrait hole, but Hermione didn't see them, and they made no move to approach her. 

Hermione was getting antsy. It was a glorious day, and the never-ending drone of scratching quills, once a soothing sound, were making her crazy. After trying unsuccessfully to block out the noise, Hermione sighed, pushed herself out of the chair, and walked out the portrait hole. 

She didn't have a particular destination in mind, but her legs, which had not been used much in recent weeks, were screaming for exercise. As she neared the Entrance Hall, the sweet smell of spring flowers and new grass filled her nose. Without further thought, Hermione pushed open the heavy oak doors and stepped into the warm sunshine. 

Outside, Hermione breathed deeply, and turned her head up towards the sky. The sun felt wonderful on her skin. A small smile flitted across her face. Glancing around, Hermione saw Hagrid standing outside his hut, and decided to drop by for a visit. 

"'Ello, 'Ermione!" Hagrid beamed as she neared the edge of the forest. "'Ow 'ave yeh been?" 

"Well, I've been better, but I'm getting along," Hermione said weakly. "How are you?" 

"Eh, I'm fine. Erm, shouldn't yeh be studyin' fer yer exams?" 

Hermione grinned at the irony of the statement. "I needed a break. Besides, it looked so nice out, I thought I'd take a walk. It might be the last time before, well..." She trailed off. 

"Before yeh head off ter Barnabie," Hagrid put in knowingly. 'Look 'ere, 'Ermione, yer gonna be fine at that school; yeh've always done well with yer studies." 

"Yes, I suppose," Hermione said stoically. 

Hagrid surveyed her with a look that was scarily reminiscent of Dumbledore's omniscient twinkle. "I expect yer still upset about 'Arry an' Ron, eh?" 

Hermione avoided his gaze. After an uncertain pause she sighed and said, "I just don't know how to talk to them anymore." 

"Well, then, that's th' problem. Yeh've just gotta talk to 'em, simple as that. They'll listen to yeh if yeh try to make peace with 'em, 'Ermione." 

Hermione shot him a look. "How do you know?" 

"Ah, well, first o' all because you three've been friends ferever, and secon' because they've tol' me so." 

"They told you so?" Hagrid nodded, trying not to smile at her shocked expression. "Well then, in that case, maybe I'd better go talk to them, yeah?" Hagrid nodded again. "Okay, then, I'll be going now. Hagrid, thanks so much!" Hermione gave him a hug before walking back up to the school, a slight spring in her step that had certainly not been there that morning. Hagrid chuckled to himself as her frizzy head disappeared from view. 

* * * 

Hermione could feel her heart pounding as she neared the library. Her thoughts were running a mile a minute. On the one hand, she didn't really believe that Hagrid would lie to her. On the other, she couldn't quite picture Harry and Ron welcoming her back with open arms, not after they way she had treated them. Her breath hitched as she realized that she might never fully resolve this with them. All too soon, she found herself in front of the library, as she half-humorously noted that one always seems to arrive quickly when one is dreading something. 

She pulled open the doors and received a quick glance from Madam Pince, who avoided meeting her gaze and instead hastily left the front desk. Hermione nearly rolled her eyes. Honestly, she thought, you would think that the teachers would show some tact. 

Hermione surveyed the room. A small cluster of Hufflepuffs was sitting by the window, apparently quizzing one another on Potions ingredients. Two Slytherins were gathering books from a shelf by the far wall, and several more were hastily flipping through the texts, obviously searching for something. Finally- Hermione gave a slight twitch- there were Harry and Ron, sitting at a table, heads bent as they scribbled on long rolls of parchment. 

Gathering up her Gryffindor courage (Hermione snorted inwardly at the cliché), she approached the table where the boys sat. Standing several feet away, Hermione stopped and watched them for a few moments. Harry was muttering something about "backward flicks," to which Hermione interpreted that he was working on Charms. Ron was scratching his head and, glancing confusedly at the large, dusty book in front of him, pondered out loud, "D'you suppose that rat tails can be substituted for rabbit claws in this thing?" 

That's my cue, thought Hermione. "Actually, Ron, you'd be better off using gerbil toenails for that, because they won't react with the octopus ink." 

Ron started, and Harry dropped his quill. Saving them the agony of responding, Hermione simply asked, "May I sit down?" 

Both boys nodded mutely. Hermione looked at the pair of them and fought to suppress a grin. They looked almost comical, sitting there with identical looks of confusion on their faces. She smiled slightly, and said, "I think we need to talk." A pause, and then, "First of all, I'm sorry for what happened when I was in the Hospital Wing." 

Ron's face clouded over. He made to speak, but Hermione held up a hand. "Let me finish. As I was saying, I'm sorry I acted so improperly about Ginny's death. I had only just woken up and was rather confused at the time, and I couldn't understand why you two looked so stricken. I didn't mean to upset either of you further." 

Silence. Then, "We're sorry, too, Hermione. We should have been more supportive. We were upset, though." 

Hermione gave Harry an apologetic smile. "I know, Harry. I was just so, well, out of it that I didn't even realize I was in the Hospital Wing, let alone why." 

Ron looked thoughtful for a minute. "You really didn't know about, err, Ginny?" He looked as if he might cry, so Hermione put her hand over his. 

"No, I really didn't remember until after you mentioned it. But then you left, and I was forced to remember everything, and... It was horrible. Ron, I'm so sorry." The last part was whispered, and Hermione found her eyes becoming blurry with tears. 

Ron sniffled and looked down. 'S'okay, Hermione." 

Hermione shook her head. "No, it's not okay. I wasn't there for either of you." 

"Yeah, well, we weren't exactly supportive ourselves, we were Ron?" Harry asked unnecessarily. 'We should have been there while you were recovering-" 

"We wanted to come in again, Hermione, but we didn't think you wanted to see us." Ron said bluntly. "And besides, Dumbledore told everyone to stay away from the Hospital Wing for a while." 

Despite herself, Hermione grinned. "And when has that ever stopped you before, Ronald Weasley?" She gave his hair a playful tug, and he grimaced. 

"Okay, so we should have come in. We're really sorry, Hermione." 

"Oh, that's okay. I acted pretty stupid, too." 

"We all acted dumb," Harry said. "But that makes us all even. Friends?" He held out his hand to Hermione. She looked at him warily, then jumped across the table and crushed him in a hug, sobbing incoherent phrases all the while. Harry, slightly red in the face, patted her back and did his best to pry her hands off his back. Grinning, Hermione reached out and pulled Ron into the hug, and whispered into both their ears, "Wow, I'm hungry. Let's go get something to eat." 

Ron smiled. "I could go for that." 

* * * 

The trio sat together on the floor of Hermione's abandoned dorm, munching on sandwiches they had swiped from the kitchens after leaving the library. All three agreed that the looks they had been given in the hallways were rather amusing; some people had simply glared, and others had smiled and waved. But, as Ron pointed out, "Having Harry around can't hurt, Hermione. If anything, it means that all the girls will like you again." Hermione threw a pillow at Ron, which he ducked, and instead it hit Harry squarely in the face. 

Hermione felt happier than she had in days. She had her best friends back, after all, and somehow everything seemed easier to face. True, she had not yet told them about her plans to go to Barnabie, and Dumbledore's warning about how no one must know reverberated through her mind every time she tried to formulate a reasonable explanation. But, so far, the boys had not pushed her for any information, which Hermione suspected was because Harry had warned Ron not to press her; Ron was looked ever-more like he was about to burst with curiosity, but he made a wonderful effort not to show it. 

Hermione stood up and stretched. Crookshanks waddled over and she bent down, scratching him behind the ears; his meowing shows his approval. "Sorry, Crooks, I know I've been ignoring you lately." Crookshanks gave a growl in agreement and wandered away, tail in the air but looking distinctly less depressed. 

Hermione turned to Harry and Ron, who looked at her expectantly. She sighed inwardly; this was not going to be easy. "I'll be honest with you two. I don't know where to begin."  
"Well, the beginning would be nice," Ron joked, but quickly shut up at Harry's stern glare. 

Hermione sat up straighter. Here goes nothing, she thought. "Well, you both saw what happened that night in the Great Hall. Basically, Dumbledore thinks that I need some special training, so I don't lose control again, and he wants me to do it over the summer." 

She waited nervously, hoping that her explanation would suffice. Please, she prayed silently to whatever gods might be listening, please don't let them ask too many questions. I'm a terrible liar. 

Harry broke the silence first. "So... So you're not coming to the Burrow or Grimmauld Place this summer? We're not going to see you at all?" 

Hermione shook her head. "Dumbledore thinks it's best, harry. We have to trust him." 

Ron nodded, but still looked rather disturbed about something. 'What I don't get, Hermione, is what exactly happened back there in the Hall. I remember a lot of light, and then I was Stunned or something..." 

"Well, that's why Dumbledore wants me to have the additional training. He isn't sure what it is either, so he wants me to find out, I guess." 

Ron nodded his understanding. "Yeah, I suppose that if Dumbledore says so, we have to listen to him, eh?" 

Hermione felt relieved. She had decided, on a spur-of-the-moment idea, that she would make it sound like Dumbledore would be the one who was training her. That way, the boys could honestly say that they didn't know where she was if- she shuddered- if someone got a hold of them. Hopefully she would have a chance to tip off the Headmaster about her insinuation before the boys got too inquisitive. Naturally, this would make exchanging letters slightly more difficult, and she didn't know how she would explain the fact that she wouldn't be at Hogwarts in September. She put it out of her mind, deciding to first get through the summer before crossing that particular hurdle. 

* * * 

Dinner that evening was fairly enjoyable, Hermione thought. Many people had noticed her presence at the Gryffindor table, but Harry and Ron whispered words of encouragement ("Ignore them, Hermione, and they'll stop sooner or later.") and she was able to make it through the meal with few comments. Afterwards, she had excused herself, claiming fatigue, and wandered back through the deserted hallways to her table in the Common Room. 

Hermione surveyed the unopened books with a faint look of disgust. What had she been thinking? Oh, that's right, she hadn't been thinking at all. Well, she would just have to make up for lost time. After all, NEWTs were less than a month away, and she had some serious studying to do if she were going to pass. 

Yawning, Hermione ran a hand through her tangled hair. Yuck, she thought. I definitely could use a serious shampooing. Glancing once more at her unopened books, Hermione stifled another mammoth yawn and decided that her studying could wait until tomorrow; she needed to get clean first. 

In her room, she dumped her books haphazardly on her bed. She grabbed her robe and some clean clothes, along with some candles and her favorite Arithmancy text. Shoving all these items in her now-empty schoolbag and left for the Prefect's bathroom. Once there, she locked and warded the door, placed the candles around the enormous tub, and lit them. She also cast a spell to play soft music in the background; in the mood for relaxation, she picked some of her favorite Mozart piano concertos. 

Hermione quickly discarded her soiled clothing. Kneeling by the edge of the tub, she turned on the taps and allowed herself to be hypnotized by the undulating surfaces of the many bubbles that emitted from the spouts. When the tub had filled, she slipped off her robe and slid into the water, sighing happily as the warmth penetrated her tired body. 

She lay with her head against the edge of the tub for quite some time, allowing the sounds of flowing water intertwined with soft instrumentals to release the tension from her body. Groggily reaching for her wand, she charmed the Arithmancy book to float in front of her so she could read without getting the precious pages wet. 

After ten pages, however, Hermione found her mind wandering to other matters. After a few more minutes fruitless attempts to concentrate, she Banished the book with a flick of her wrist and lay back again, closing her eyes to the soft light of the candles. Her mind drifted to Harry and Ron, and she smiled slowly as she once again assured herself that everything was indeed well between the three of them. A pang of worry surfaced: what if they were to pry too much about her summer plans and she spilled something? Well, if that happened, she reasoned, they could always be Obliviated. She giggled at the thought of what Ron's countenance might resemble if he lost his memories- probably something close to Lockhart, she mused, only with slightly less of a pout, and slightly more innocent. Sighing, Hermione realized that she should probably wash herself while she daydreamed; after all, wasn't that the reason for the bath in the first place? 

Hermione shampooed her hair thoroughly, grimacing at the thought of how many tangles she would have to work out. Applying liberal amounts of conditioner, she commenced to scrub her back with a brush as she continued to reminisce. 

For some odd reason, Snape's face popped into her mind as she recalled Ron's earlier question about rats' tails. She could clearly picture his face as she ran out of the dungeons, and she wondered how he would receive the news of her permanent departure. She sniggered. He would probably be overjoyed, she mussed. He might even smile, although on second though, nah, his face might crack, she though wickedly. Then the amusing image of Snape picking up his large nose off the floor and smushing it back onto his face caused her to go into a fit of uncontrollable giggles. But the laughter slowly turned to quiet sobs as Hermione realized that she would even miss seeing Snape's scowling face while she was away. She had never really thought about how she would fare outside of Hogwarts, because she had always assumed that she would have her friends there to help her out. But the truth of the matter was that although they could write and perhaps even visit, she was going to have to get through Barnabie very much alone. The thought was frightening, and suddenly the peaceful bath was unsettling. 

Hermione climbed out of the tub hastily, and dried herself off without much care. One glance in the mirror confirmed that her hair was indeed a mess, but she simply wrapped it up in a towel and threw on her robe, deciding to tackle her disastrous curls once she got back to the dorms. She blew out the candles, gathered her things (again, taking care not to get the book wet- even in her wary state, she was still careful with texts), and left the bathroom. 

The halls were as silent as they had been after dinner, and now the flickering light of the torches pierced the darkness. Hermione shivered in her thin robe; she should get back to her room and get dressed before she caught cold. Quickening her pace, she traveled through the deserted corridors, keeping one ear out for Mrs. Norris, who would surely smell her with all the perfumed soap she had used. 

The towel slipped from her head, and Hermione simply pulled it off her head. On the wall, the head of her shadow now appeared to be sprouting a prickly bush, which added another three feet of height to her petite stature. She laughed nervously, but composed herself quickly and continued on her journey. 

She had rounded the corner to the Tower entrance, when she spotted someone lurking down the corridor, right in front of the fat lady's portrait. Hermione slid behind a statue and pressed herself up against the wall. The figure abruptly turned and started stalking down the corridor in her direction. Hermione held her breath. 

As the person neared her, she could see that he was clad in long, black robes that draped across the floor. She gasped as she realized that this was none other than Snape, and by the looks of it, he was intent on catching someone out of bed. Hermione shuddered slightly as he swept past her. She could well imagine what would happen if he were to catch her in the hallways at this hour, wearing nothing more than a thin robe, her hair a royal mess, and smelling like a flower factory. As Snape glided down the hallway, Hermione silently thanked the gods that she was small enough to fit behind the statue. Snape rounded the corner, and Hermione sighed in relief. 

She stepped out from behind the statue and was making her way down the corridor when- 

"Miss Granger!" Snape's icy voice startled her so much that she dropped her book. It clattered to the floor, and the noise echoed in the silent hallway. "Just what do you think you're doing?" 

Hermione looked up at Snape. He looked even worse in the dark, she decided. His hair was, if possible, even greasier in the torchlight, and his long nose stood out prominently amidst the shadows of his other features. "I was just taking a bath, sir," she replied nervously. 

"Indeed," Snape sniffed. "And what do you think gives you the right to be out at this hour?" 

"N-nothing, sir," she stuttered in reply. 

Snape smirked at her in triumph. "That's right, girl, nothing gives you that right. Perhaps detention would put that rule back in your mind?. Tomorrow night, seven o'clock, and don't even think about being late." 

"Y-Yes sir," she stammered, half relieved that he was letting her off so easy. But she thought too soon, because as Snape turned to leave, he said smoothly, "And fifty points from Gryffindor. Forty for being out after curfew, and another ten for being wet." Snape eyed her wild locks in displeasure. "Miss Granger, I trust you will be able to do something about the state of your hair?" 

Hermione blushed, and ignored the irony. "Yes sir." 

Snape gave her one final glare. "Get back to bed." 

Hermione turned and practically ran back into Gryffindor Tower. She threw her bundle of items on the floor and crawled under the blankets, shaking but infinitely glad to be away from Snape and his snide tone. 


End file.
